


how we swallow the sun

by solarsystems



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, dub con, past Harry/Louis - Freeform, past Louis/Eleanor, tagging in case it's triggering it's nothing major at all but could be read that way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:21:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarsystems/pseuds/solarsystems
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“say his name, el, fu- fuck, just say it.”</em>
</p><p>when louis leaves, there's still harry and eleanor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how we swallow the sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [polishedstone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/polishedstone/gifts).



> i wrote this in about half an hour, so i hope it's sufficient and all that.
> 
> for lola, the biggest shipper of harry/eleanor ever. love you dude.

a love like theirs won’t survive beyond this winter. it won’t crack through the snow, won’t celebrate warmth. there’s no such thing as warmth between them. and that’s why they’re here, really. because louis was always the sun, the brightness. and he took it all away, so they make do.

it’s not even love, this unspoken thing they have, and eleanor knows that. but the way harry latches onto her, sucking bruises into the skin at the junction of her neck, she doesn’t care. louis is so far away now, all the way across the world, if you think about it. it’s been a lifetime since louis, for both of them.

“wanna taste you,” he says, and his pupils are dilated and there’s nothing but black in his gaze and maybe that’s fitting. she nods, frantic and wanting. and when he spreads her out on the couch in the apartment he and louis shared, all those years ago, it feels like burning.

“yeah, harry, ju- just like that,” she whispers, and it’s not like he’s listening, just laps against her clit and crooks his fingers inside of her. he’s done this a thousand times, and he knows how to make a girl come undone underneath him. she knows he just wants to make her come, make her arch her back, make her a string tightly wound around his toungue, so he can get what he wants. but it feels so good, makes her feel loved. 

when he purses his lips around the small nub of nerves, she knows what’s rising up inside of her. and then it crescents, and her orgasm washes over her, and he never lets up the pressure inside of her and he just laughs, hollow, when he’s almost hit in the face with her pubic bone. he smirks, and it’s still that empty gaze, smile never reaching his eyes.

before he’s even pulled his fingers out, she leans over to the table to grab at the box of condoms she knows it’s there, and when she feels the plastic under her fingertips, it feels like a lot like dying. he keeps crooking the two digits inside of her, and the warm breath of his mouth against her crevice where her thigh meets her hip is probably supposed to make her ache for his cock. it’s not louis, so it doesn’t work the way it should.

“look so good like this, el, fuck,” harry says, and the words burn against her skin, feel like an indentation on the soft skin of her belly. 

“just fuck me, get it over with,” she says, voice almost cracking when she meets his gaze. this is harry, and she has known him forever, ever since she first met louis and the two boys shared this very apartment. she knows they were never just friends, probably fucked like rabbits whenever she had to go back to uni. but this isn’t the eleanor she was back then, and he’s not the same harry he was back then either. 

he’s become hard, become hollow from too many flights over the world and too few smiles from his mother. the popstar life was like cut out for him, and he still crashed, burned out like a dying matchstick. 

thank fuck louis never broke like harry did. if it wasn’t for louis, eleanor doubts any of them would be alive. isn’t it nice, the two people louis loved most, almost but not really loving each other like this? it’s alright, ain’t it?

he laughs, and when he’s put the condom on, fingers steady rolling down onto his cock, and he is sunken into her, his hipbones are sharp against the inside of her thighs and she can taste the ashes in her mouth. she’s going to have bruises tomorrow, blue marks in the shape of his fingers on the inside of her wrists tomorrow. she doesn’t care.

he takes it easy the first few thrusts, has probably had his fair share of girls crying, dying when he enters them like this. it’s not out of care for her, just doesn’t want to deal with the consequences of blood on the manchester of the couch. that’s nice.

when she scratches down his back, fingernails digging into the skin there and almost drawing blood, he takes it as his cue and speeds up. he feels big inside of her, longer than louis but not as thick. he’s gotten up a rhythm now, waves crashing over her over and over, drowning and reaching the surface when he pulls back. 

“say his name, el, fu- fuck, just say it.”

she whispers, words almost getting lost in the crook of her elbow that she’s slung over her face. 

“louis fuck, louis, just like that,” and that’s what pushes harry over the edge, the sound of his former lover in the mouth of his present one. it feels dirty, and it feels good. she wants to drive her hands into louis’ belly and fuck him up like he did with the both of them. this feels like a start.

loving louis was never like this, and they both know it. and that’s how it’s supposed to feel when you lose your sun, like the light will never return. but in the meantime, they have darkness, jutting hipbones and nothing that tastes like love. this feels like resurrection.


End file.
